


Equality of Terms

by DictionaryWrites



Category: Marvel, Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Manipulation, Enthusiastic Consent, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-04-30 18:13:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14502681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: Loki has a little more power than the Grandmaster thinks he does, and when the Grandmaster implies Loki is not so loyal as he says he is, Loki becomes... Upset.





	Equality of Terms

**Author's Note:**

> Wanted to play with something that's definitely unhealthy but isn't just straight-up the GM manipulating Loki into something, and instead has a little unhealthiness on both sides. Gotta love these two!

“I have given you a gift I have given nearly  _no other_ , Grandmaster,” Loki says slyly, even as he basks in the sun that comes down upon the balcony. It is merely the two of them, and the Grandmaster arches an eyebrow, looking down at Loki sardonic.

“What’s that?”

“My  _undying_  loyalty,” Loki murmurs, and the words are simultaneously light in tone and heavy in meaning: he feels his heart  _ache_  for the vulnerability of the confession, but he also feels it leap at his  _honesty_. Loki’s smile is indulgent, but the Grandmaster seems merely amused.

“Loyalty?” The Grandmaster chuckles, his chin upon his hand, and Loki frowns at him, tilting his head to the side. “Well, no– No offence, pretty thing, honey, sweetheart, but… You don’t exactly have a choice.”

“Is that what you think?” Loki asks, lowly.  **REJECTION**. That is the word that echoes in Loki’s mind, bouncing off the insides of his skull, shifting off the insides of his twin rib cages -  _rejection_. He’s rejecting you. He doesn’t want you, doesn’t think you’re  _special_ , doesn’t care– “Perhaps I ought leave, then, Grandmaster, if a declaration such as that means so little to you.”

“And, ha, what is  _that_  supposed to mean?” the Grandmaster asks, his golden voice grating abruptly on Loki’s ears. “You can’t exactly leave unless I, unless I  _let_  you, can you?” Sakaar is a complex planet: it is easy to land here, and difficult to escape. One needs to leave via a specific wormhole that breaks the atmosphere, and dimensional transitways (that is to say, magical teleportation) is quite impossible. “You don’t have a  _ship_ , Lokes. Whatcha gonna do?”

“I don’t know,” Loki says airily, and as he turns away from the Grandmaster, stalking across the balcony, he reaches for the banister, throwing himself over it with his weight passing easily over the side: he hears the Grandmaster’s sound of shock and horror as he rushes to the side of the balcony, but Loki is the  _Skywalker_ , and his steps are easy as he moves across the very air, suspended hundreds of feet before the bustling city of Sakaar. “How  _ever_  would I do it, Grandmaster? How ever  _could_  I leave, if I so chose?” he calls over his shoulder, giving an easy wave over his shoulder.

He oughtn’t have done that. It was petty, and foolish, and  _stupid_ , and if the Grandmaster turns him to dust that very hour, Loki will deserve it.

He needs a drink.

—

Wine is thick on Loki’s tongue, and he sits in the corner of the ugly little establishment, pressed tightly into a booth, his legs drawn up against his chest, his feet upon the cushioned bench he is seated on. There is a buzz in his mind, dissuading all the awful thoughts of  _life_  that see so fit to distract him, and he gracelessly pours himself another glass, the bottle shaking slightly in his hand.

“Whatcha drinking?” the Grandmaster asks, lowly, his voice soft and sweet. Loki ignores it, bringing the glass to his lips and swallowing another mouthful of the wine. It is acrid, and ancient, and it has been aged in a cask of something else, for there is a kick that hits the roof of Loki’s mouth. “Huh. I don’t… I don’t really like the silent treatment.”

“Either kill me, or leave me be. I have no use for you otherwise,” Loki says cleanly, his jaw set. The Grandmaster’s expression is deceptively mild, and he slides onto the bench beside Loki, taking his legs and laying them gently across his own lap: the Grandmaster is a haze of warmth and magic and distant scents, and Loki has to concentrate with his drunken, unruly mind to keep from sighing at the comfort of his presence. 

“You could have left,” the Grandmaster says softly, drawing repetitive circles through the leather of Loki’s trousers, drawing his fingers and thumb back and forth over the skin of his knee. “This whole time, you weren’t my prisoner.” The Grandmaster speaks the words softly,  _lovingly_ , and Loki gulps heavily from the glass. “You  _chose_  me.”

“I chose a planet of revelry and wonder over the alternative,” Loki mutters. “ _Your_  being here was mere happenstance.”

“Ah ah ah, Lo-lo,” the Grandmaster purrs, humour weighting down his words. “I may be maniacal and, ha, arguably a little psychotic, but I still rule the roost here. And you chose to  _stay_.” The Grandmaster leans in, his hand leaving a tingling trail of power over Loki’s cheek, his breath hot on Loki’s lips, and Loki feels  _stupid_. He ought merely have left, left this idiotic planet behind him as soon as he’d left, and yet– “You really like me, huh?”

“I don’t see how it’s relevant whether I like you or not,” Loki mutters. “You rule this planet with an iron fist, and–”

“But it doesn’t mean anything to  _you_. You can leave.”

“Yes! I am the only one on this planet that  _chooses_  to be at your side, freely, and with ease,” Loki whispers. “And you would scorn me!” Loki tries to push the Grandmaster’s hand away, but he stands his ground, his smile growing a little wider. “You treat me like a servant, a curiosity, a pet, and I–” 

“You  _love_  it,” the Grandmaster interrupts in a low and resonant voice, his golden eyes full to the brim with light. Loki can feel his breaths speeding slightly, feel his heart beating a little harder in his chest, as the Grandmaster’s hand rises up his thigh. “You could be anywhere in the  _universe_ , and you chose to stay here. Even when I’m  _mean_.” The Grandmaster’s voice becomes softer, sweeter, and he says, “I knew you were my favourite for a reason,” the words ghosting over Loki’s mouth and making him shiver. 

“Do you like it? When I’m a little cruel?” The Grandmaster’s hand is tighter on his thigh, and Loki could lie, could probably mumble some negative remark, but the wine is swirling within him, and so he pathetically, clumsily, nods his head. “’Cause you know I love you, right? You know you’re the best one here? Pet, servant, work of art… You want to be all three.”

Loki feels shame creep into his cheeks, burning ever colder under the skin, and the Grandmaster’s soft laugh makes him  _ache_  inside. “It’s okay, Loki,” he murmurs, kissing Loki’s chin, “you’re all mine,” and another kiss, on Loki’s nose, “so long as you stay with me.” And then the Grandmaster’s mouth is on Loki’s own, and Loki is sighing into it, feeling himself  _relax_  under the Grandmaster’s warmth, his touch, his–

Possession. 

“Forever?” Loki asks: it comes out sharp, jagged, like a demand, like a  _plea_. The Grandmaster looks into his eyes, and then he  _grins_. There’s a dangerous, hungry glint in his eyes, a glint that makes Loki feel like crumbling to pieces in his arms, and Loki’s head  _spins_  with the drink. 

“Sure,” he says. “Forever.” Loki surges forward, pressing their lips together, and he kisses the Grandmaster as if it will stop him from thinking any more, as if it will dash his awful thoughts forevermore–

And when the Grandmaster kisses him back, it feels like it will. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Check out [my Tumblr](http://dictionarywrites.tumblr.com) for more, or if you want to send in a request.


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